


Marked

by littlebun416



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mentions of Harder Dom/Sub, Multi, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlebun416/pseuds/littlebun416
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg notices bruising on Sherlock's wrists consistent with restraints marks. Why is he hiding it and more importantly, who is behind it? The answers Greg gets are something he never would have guessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marked

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies, I have such a kink for Dom/John, Sub/Sherlock, and Greg stuck in the middle... and Sherlock being punished for teasing Greg.
> 
> Comments and crit are always appreciated!
> 
> xo

Late at night, Sherlock and Greg were sitting in the DI's office, going over some of the particulars of the latest solved case for the record. Greg dutifully jotted down notes as Sherlock explained, occasionally stopping him to ask some more questions or a better explanation. As Sherlock reached for a particular file from the table across from him, Greg took notice of the unusual coloration of his skin where his shirt cuffs pulled up just the slightest. He furrowed his brow. That looked like bruising. When had Sherlock gotten those? He hadn't been involved in any sort of drastic situation in several cases. He had not even an inkling of an idea of how they happened.

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?” He wasn't even paying attention, or else he might have taken notice of the particularly confused and hesitant tone in Greg's voice.

“Sherlock, where did you get those?”

Now Sherlock looked up in semi-interest, following Greg's line of sight to his wrists, which were now covered. As realization dawned, his face flushed slightly pink. Greg, if possible, was even more shocked by the physical display of embarrassment; it looked utterly out of place on Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock did not answer; in fact he seemed stunned into silence, mouth gaping in the beginnings of a lie or dismissal.

“Is - is someone hurting you? Is this something to do with Moriarty?” He could not understand, and Sherlock's unusual reaction only made things more confusing. He is not the type of man to allow himself to get into a situation like that and say nothing; how would that situation even come about? Those are clearly not fighting wounds; they are constraint wounds. 

“It's nothing, ignore it.”

“It's not nothing, those are bruises, Sherlock!” The man's cheeks were burning more brightly and he was becoming more visibly uncomfortable. “Sherlock, please, as a friend, tell me what's going on!”

“They're from John!” It bursts out of him with a whoosh of air, seemingly deflating him of his anxious behavior.

Greg felt an even stronger wave of confusion and sadness, which was reflected in his soft reply of “Sherlock”. He couldn't understand how John of all people...

“No, no, he's not abusing me, you idiot. Christ, I don't think John has a cruel bone in his body.”

At the look of complete confusion and loss on Lestrade's face, he continued.

“I _asked_ him to do this to me.”

Still there was no dawning of comprehension on Greg's face, in fact, he felt even more confused. Why on earth would he have asked John to do this? Sherlock sighed in annoyance.

“Lestrade. We have very rough sex.”

And _Christ_ , if that didn't give Greg a rush of very different and perplexing feelings. Relief, that no one was abusing the man, embarrassment at the turn of the conversation, and a nice healthy dose of arousal. Of course, leave it all to Sherlock to read all of this from Greg's face in an instant. For someone who doesn't seem to have emotions, he sure is adept at deducing them at the most inopportune times. Now no longer being the one floundering, Sherlock straightened up with his usual confidence and arrogance.

“I - uh, I didn't even know you two were, uh...” 

“Sometimes you are incredibly thick, Lestrade.” 

He flushed even more with embarrassment. Sherlock's eyes pierced him like a hawk going after its prey. His mouth turned up in a barely perceptible smirk, self-satisfaction written all over his face. He leaned forward and showed Greg his wrists. 

“These in particular are from last week, when he cuffed me to the bed and whipped me.” 

Greg swallowed hard and his heart seemed to stop. This new facet of Sherlock was unbearably arousing; dark, predatory, and hungry. He didn't even care that he suddenly knew who had stolen his handcuffs. He knew his face showed every indication of arousal, and he knew Sherlock was delighting in reading every last one of them; pupils blown wide, the sheen of sweat on his brow, his pulse hammering away in his throat. Sherlock leaned forward even more as he rolled up his sleeves to reveal fading, hand-shaped bruising on his forearms. 

“And these are from when he pinned me down the week before.” 

Greg couldn't move. It felt as though all of his blood was rushing straight toward his cock. He could feel himself straining against the confines of his trousers, and he knew Sherlock had noticed as his eyes occasionally flickered down to Greg's lap and his smirk grew even more pronounced.  
Sherlock practically slithered out of his chair and crawled toward Greg on his knees, crowding into the space between his thighs, which involuntarily parted even more. 

“And this,” Sherlock murmured in his impossibly deep, velvety voice ad he lifted his shirt to show a black and blue streak across his torso, “is from when he bent me over your desk and fucked me until I screamed his name.” 

Fucking _hell_ Greg was going to die right there, he was sure of it. He let out a noise between a whimper and a groan and Sherlock's eyes glinted with mischief. Greg's gaze slid to his desk, as he imagined the scene being described to him. He would never be able to sit at that desk again without getting aroused. He couldn’t even bring himself to be angry that they had defiled his workspace in that way. 

“Does is give you pleasure, Lestrade, to imagine me being punished for all of the things I do? All of the times I insult you, annoy you, ridicule you? Does is arouse you to think about me all tied up while John fucks me with his gun shoved down my throat?” 

Greg groaned as his cock violently twitched in his trousers. “Sherlock, please.” He didn't know if he was begging him to stop or for him to do something. Sherlock's voice grew husky and heavy with arousal, fascinated with teasing Greg and watching him become more and more unraveled. He slowly was occupying more and more of Lestrade's space, making the air between them hot with his breath. He placed his hands on the armrests of the chair, like a barrier around Greg. 

“You should see how much he likes it, oh, you should see him when he's holding me down, slapping me across the face, grabbing me by the throat. On the surface he's all innocence and kindness, but when I beg him, break down that wall, he's like an animal. Ferocious and hungry.” He purred his last words into Greg's ear as his breath ghosted across Greg's neck. 

Greg shuddered as he closed his eyes and pictured everything Sherlock was saying. He realized he was shaking with the effort not to touch himself, but he knew he wasn't allowed, that Sherlock wanted to enjoy making Lestrade squirm. 

His eyes flew open as Sherlock loosed a low and sultry chuckle, eyes shining with pleasure. Greg was practically panting, his ragged breath permeating the air between them, seemingly making the space grow smaller. 

In an instant the moment was broken as the door to Greg's office flew open. Both men froze, wide eyed in horror, at the unexpected intrusion. John stalked into the room and threw the door shut behind him, turning the lock into place. 

“Sherlock, what on **earth** are you doing?” His voice was deep and resonating, not quite a shout but definitely a threat. As Sherlock trembled, his ribs shuddered against Greg's thighs. 

“Sherlock” he growled low in his throat. Sherlock was right; Greg could sense the animal in John about to tear itself loose. He was nothing like the usual John Watson - the signature playful glint in his eye was replaced by dark pools of lust and dominance. His cheerful voice was gone and in its place low and threatening growls. 

Greg felt himself get impossibly harder. 

“I wasn't doing anything.” Fuck, _yes_ , Greg loved that Sherlock was egging him on, pushing John even further into this state. He had never been so glad for Sherlock's arrogance as he was at that moment. John raised an eyebrow as his face grew darker. 

“It doesn't look like ‘nothing’ to me.” He made his way to where Sherlock knelt between Greg's legs, both men's arousal undeniably obvious. Sherlock's cheeks once again began to flush the most gorgeous shade of red against his alabaster skin. 

Sherlock couldn't help but release a gasp of pleasure as John's hand whipped out to grab him by the hair and tilt his head back, exposing the long expanse of his neck to Greg. Sherlock was panting now, his pulse visible to Greg even a few feet away. John slowly leaned down to Sherlock's ear.  
“I think you're being a very bad boy, Sherlock.” Sherlock whimpered in reply and Greg's mouth went dry. For the first time since entering the room, John’s eyes were drawn to Greg's. He held his gaze for several long seconds, before a slow smile spread across his face. This was not a John Watson smile. No, this was something entirely different, dark and voracious. John's attentions were brought back to Sherlock as he claimed him in a heated, open-mouthed kiss. Sherlock's hands moved from the armrest to Greg's thighs, squeezing tightly. 

Greg could do nothing but stare at the sight before him. Sherlock, silenced by John's wicked tongue, held in place by John's hand threaded through his hair. He wanted more than anything to reach out and touch them both, to put his hand around Sherlock's throat or to wrap around John's wrist as he gripped the back of Greg's neck. He had the strangest desire to dominate Sherlock while being dominated by John. He could not decide which he wanted more. Sherlock's hands were slowly sliding up toward Greg. He was suddenly very aware of their proximity to his cock. “Oh, God.” He could not stop the words from falling from his lips. John, who was distracted by it, looked over to see Sherlock's hands inching their way up Greg's legs and pulled off of his mouth to give a particularly vicious tug to his hair. Sherlock moaned loud and low in his throat. 

“Now, now Sherlock, hands to yourself. I know you're an impatient little cock slut, but you have to wait.” Both Sherlock and Greg groaned at the words. Lestrade was even more aroused by the fact that Sherlock clearly got off on this mistreatment. The more he liked it, the more Greg reacted to it. John, chuckling to himself, clearly took pleasure in the effect he was having on both men. 

He pulled Sherlock away from his position between Greg’s legs by his hair and maneuvered him to a kneeling position on the side a few feet away. “Now you sit here and be quiet like a good boy.” Sherlock nodded once, a look of pure ecstasy on his face. John then turned back to Greg and climbed into his lap to straddle his hips, brushing his cock against the underside of John’s own erection. Greg felt as though he were incapable of thought, he could do little else except stare at John and groan at the pressure of him in his lap. John gently guided his head to turn and look at Sherlock, who had a perfect view of the two men from his position on the floor. His hand was heavy and warm on the side of Greg’s neck. 

“Doesn’t he look gorgeous like that.” he murmured softly into Greg’s ear. “The picture of obedience. You can do anything you like to him and he’ll take it. More than that, he’ll enjoy it.” Greg shivered at his words, John’s mouth pressed to his ear. He nosed Greg’s neck and chuckled at the resulting tremor. “What do you want to do to him?” his words were thick against his neck, making Greg feel hot and desperate. 

“Christ, I don’t-” his mind was fuzzy, he couldn’t form a coherent sentence. A whine escaped his throat as John ground down on him, just slightly, just to tease him. “C’mon then, what do you want to do to Sherlock.” Greg could feel John smirking against his neck. 

“I want to – God, I want to hold him down.” He glanced at Sherlock, whose face looked hopeful, urging him to continue. 

“He loves to be held down, y’know. He loves being controlled.” John was breathless, practically vibrating on top of him. “God, John.” He gasped as John’s cock rubbed against his own with the most delicious friction, and John moaned into his neck. “C’mon, what else.” He was practically begging now, and how could Greg refuse him? “I want to shove my cock down his throat.” Sherlock whimpered. 

“Oh my God, _yes_.” John hissed as he sank his teeth into Greg’s neck, causing him to buck his hips up against John’s. Lestrade closed his eyes and threw back his head, giving John greater access. He licked and nibbled and kissed all across his throat, to which Greg replied with a litany of mutterings and curses. When the D.I. finally opened his eyes his vision flew directly to Sherlock, erection aching in his trousers and hands shaking with the effort to hold himself still. He was panting and whimpering and looking thoroughly wrecked in a way Greg had never thought he could look. “John” Greg gasped, “John, please can we - ?” He left his question unfinished; he didn’t fully know what he was asking for, just that he could do something to the man waiting patiently by their side. 

John looked up in surprise and followed Greg’s line of sight to the gorgeous mess that was Sherlock, trembling with barely restrained desire. Scrambling off of Greg’s lap, he circled to the back of Sherlock and placed one hand in his hair and one hand on his chest, right below his neck. He carded his hand through his curls, practically petting him, and Sherlock seemed to respond in an almost catlike manner, leaning in to the touch and nuzzling John’s hand. 

“Come here, Greg.” John’s voice was demanding but not harsh. He held Sherlock as if offering him up to Greg, who stood on shaky legs and walked to stand in front of Sherlock and John. With sure and steady hands, John began to unbutton Sherlock’s shirt, revealing a smooth expanse of creamy skin stretched over taught muscle. Every here and there was a mark or bruise where John’s teeth, hands, and tongue had claimed the man. Greg thought with a shudder that he should like to be marked by John, too. 

Once Sherlock was divested of his shirt, John moved to stand behind Greg, removing his tie and button down and making short work of his own shirt. He stood with his bare chest to Greg’s back, chin hooked over his shoulder, and slid his hands down, from shoulder to chest to naval. His fingers skirted around the top of Lestrade’s trousers before coming to rest on his belt buckle. Greg tipped his head back and breathed a quiet, “please”, which was all John needed to get to work removing his belt and sliding him out of his trousers. Greg stood in his pants, feeling utterly exposed with his cock straining obscenely against his underwear. He looked down at Sherlock, who licked his lips and stared at Greg’s erection, eager to get his mouth on it. John’s hands gripped Greg’s hips firmly before one slid to gently caress his cock. At the contact, Greg moaned and thrust his hips forward slightly into John’s hand. The hand still on his hip held him steady. “Don’t you go being a naughty boy, too, Detective Inspector, or I’ll have to punish you.” 

“Oh, God, John, please. Please let me just – Christ, _please_. Please punish me.” He was begging and rambling, but he was so aroused he could hardly bring himself to care. He just needed _more_ ; more friction, more contact, more of John’s deliciously dirty words in his ear. 

“Well, well, Lestrade, I never knew you were so filthy.” His calm reply was complimented by a sharp nip to the soft junction of his neck and shoulder, and Greg involuntarily thrust his hips again, causing John to chuckle against his neck. John slowly removed his hand from its resting place on Greg’s erection, and gripped Sherlock by the hair to guide him forward. At the first ghost of Sherlock’s breath, Greg was tempted to let loose, but John’s steady grip on his hip was keeping him grounded. “Go on, put your hands in his hair. He likes that.” Lestrade reached out to run his fingers through silken curls, finding a home at the back of his head and tugging firmly. He guided Sherlock’s head closer to mouth at him through his pants. _God_ , who ever thought that being touched through a layer of clothing would be so erotic. Sherlock placed gentle kisses on every spot he could reach, causing Greg to grow more and more frantic. Having sensed his need, John slid Greg’s pants down his thighs, freeing his cock from its confines. Sherlock was quick to grasp it firmly in his hand as he mouthed the tip softly. Greg threw his head back in pleasure and moaned. John alternated between nipping and kissing at his neck while whispering dirty things into his ear. His hands drew slow and steady circles on Greg’s hips as Sherlock worked his cock. 

“It’s the only thing his mouth is good for, isn’t it? And he’s so good at it. He loves to have his mouth fucked. Go on, fuck his mouth.” Greg gasped as John’s own erection was pressed to his backside. For a moment he couldn’t decide between pushing back or thrusting forward. He gripped Sherlock’s hair even harder and began pumping wildly into his mouth. When Sherlock moaned around him he knew he had made the right decision. John moaned, as well, in appreciation and satisfaction. Greg didn’t even know that there was such a kink, being dominated and dominating at the same time, but fucking hell if it wasn’t the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He felt his hips begin to stutter and heat pooling low in his belly. He tried to pull off and warn Sherlock, but John held him in place as he shuddered through his release deep in Sherlock’s throat. Sherlock moaned even more loudly and swallowed several times around his cock, which was quickly becoming over sensitive. He pulled out only to have John drag him to the desk and bend him over it. 

He was frantic and wild, hands roaming all over Greg’s sides and backside as he scrambled to simultaneously get his trousers off. Once he finally got free he slicked up his cock with the precome that had accumulated and pressed to Greg’s entrance. Greg felt his cock twitch in interest but was unable to get hard again so quickly. 

“God, Greg, you have no idea how often we have talked about this, Sherlock and I, having you all to ourselves.” His voice was low and breathless with the effort to hold himself still. “I’m going to fuck you until all you know is my cock, all you care about is my body thrusting into yours.” 

“Please, John, please, God I want that.” He did not care how pathetic he sounded; he wanted nothing more than to have John do those things to him. He was vaguely aware of Sherlock moving to the chair closest by so he had a proper view of both men. Everything was erased from his mind, however, when John began to slowly push into him. He went gently enough to show Greg that he really didn’t want to cause him harm, but steadily enough that there was a sting of pain mixed with the pleasure. Once he was in Greg to the hilt he paused, waiting for the go ahead. Greg hadn’t done this in a very long time (with his own toys, of course. He had never actually been with a man before). It was taking him longer than usual to get used to the sensation, but upon looking over toward Sherlock a spark of renewed arousal shot through him. Sherlock was lounging in the chair with his cock out and was lazily stroking it. Greg pushed back into John as he groaned and John, taking the hint, began to move in and out at a steady pace. Lestrade continued to watch Sherlock as John pumped into him. 

“Harder, John, please!” Greg cried out, moaning when Sherlock’s hand sped up to match John’s rhythm. John was moving hard and fast now, not holding back as he gripped Greg’s hips hard enough that he knew there would be bruises there the next day. Lestrade’s mind was blissfully blank of any thoughts. He gasped with pleasure as he watched Sherlock and felt John. With a groan, John suddenly came, thrusting his way through his orgasm. Greg felt as though he couldn’t hold himself up, bearing all of his weight on his desk as he and John both came down from the rush. He loved the feeling of John still inside of him and wanted to stay exactly like that forever, but his attention was brought back to Sherlock who was whining and desperate, awaiting John’s approval to come. Instead, John pulled out of Greg, who huffed at the loss, and beckoned Sherlock over. 

“Oh, don’t worry Detective Inspector, Sherlock’s going to fill you up again.” With a slap on Sherlock’s behind, he pushed him toward Greg, who was still loose and dripping with the remnants of John’s release. John took Sherlock’s place on the chair, and Sherlock easily slipped inside of Greg and immediately began thrusting. He was beginning to feel as though it was becoming too much, when Sherlock shifted at hit a spot in Greg that made him cry out and push back against Sherlock as hard as he could. “Oh my God, Sherlock, there! Do that again!” And Sherlock assented, pumping into Greg and hitting the same spot every time. Greg was vaguely aware that he had gotten hard again, his cock bouncing lewdly between his legs. As Sherlock continued his movements, Greg felt his orgasm begin to build, and with a particularly hard thrust to his prostate, he released all over the front of his desk without even having touched himself. Sherlock, sensing what had just happened, muttered “Oh, God, that’s so - _Greg_ “ and came with a shudder inside of Greg. 

After a moment of catching his breath, he slipped out of Greg and onto the chair next to John. Greg turned around and slid to the floor, resting his back against his desk, being careful to miss the particularly dirty areas. He could feel John’s and Sherlock’s come dripping out of him, but was far too sated to care about the mess it was making. 

They all sat there, breathing heavily for several minutes, when something dawned on Lestrade. 

“Sherlock, you bastard, you **do** know my name!” Sherlock’s face betrayed that though he wished to deny it, he knew he had been caught. His expression slowly melted into laughter, and soon all three of them were chuckling. 

“I suppose we had better get cleaned up?” Greg stood to grab a roll of paper towels he kept in his desk drawer and began to clean himself up, along with the desk and floor. Once they were all clean and clothed, an air of awkwardness seemed to fill the room. No one quite knew what to say. Sherlock broke the silence. 

“Well then, I suppose we had better be going.” He cleared his throat. “Hm, yes, if you need anything else, you know where to find me.” Greg would have thought that he was referring to the case they were wrapping up if it weren’t for the mischievous glint in his eye and the smirk he bore. He whipped his Belstaff around him with a flourish as he walked out the door. John hesitated. 

“See you later, Greg.” As he was about to walk out the door, John turned quickly and placed a remarkably soft and chaste kiss to Greg’s lips. “Hope to do this again soon, Detective Inspector.” And with a wink he was gone. 


End file.
